


Rip Out Her Heart

by DaFlangstLairde



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous-Gender Kris (Deltarune), Angst, Emotional Hurt, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, Existentialism, Fear, Gen, Gender-Neutral Kris (Deltarune), Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Kris suffers y'all, Loss of Control, Misunderstandings, Night Terrors, Nonbinary Kris (Deltarune), Possession, Psychological Trauma, Reader Is Not Kris (Deltarune)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaFlangstLairde/pseuds/DaFlangstLairde
Summary: All that echoes through Kris' mind is pain. Control. Hatred.They rip out their soul.They aren't careful enough to hide it for long.
Relationships: Asriel Dreemurr & Frisk, Asriel Dreemurr & Kris (Deltarune), Kris & Susie (Deltarune)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	Rip Out Her Heart

**Author's Note:**

> CAREFUL!  
> This fic contains some dangerous stuff! Read the tags!  
> Kris DOES rip out their soul. They're in pain and mentally suffering. No comfort.

Pain. Pain. Pain. Control. Pain. Sore. LEAVE. Kris. Name. Pain. Dark. Control. Control.    
  
Why? Why Kris? How?    
  
Control. Possessed. Taken over. Manipulation. Haunted. Belonging. Used.   
  
They spasm under the bed sheet. They shake and struggle and wriggle, like a fish out of water, like a worm into water. They throw themselves to the ground. Pain. Pain.    
  
It was them who threw themselves, at least.    
  
Kris slips. They blink and shake. Their vision is fog, vignette, depth, wrong, surreal, distortion. Dark. It’s night. Their head spins.    
  
The room is empty. It’s not empty. It’s Kris. And Them, watching, watching, watching through the darkness of the room, watching Kris.    
  
Pain. Tugging. Pressing. Pressure. Pain. Pulling. Shoving.    
  
Kris resists.    
  
They stand up. Their feet shake. Distortion. Their body is twisted, following suit to their thoughts.    
  
Control. Kris’ control now.    
  
They take a step, a step, a step, a step, a step, a step, a step, a step, a step. Slow. Heavy. Echo. Pain. Tugging. Control.    
  
Their feet drag against the floor. They feel their feet dragging against the floor. Dragging.    
  
Kris raises a hand. It’s their hand. They haven’t felt it as their own hand for a while. They stretch the muscles. They revel in the feeling. Their hand. Kris’ hand.    
  
They slam it into their chest.    
  
Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Waves. Distortion. Unnatural. Not right. Not right. Broken. Pain. Pain. They close their hand. Warm. Hot. Light. Red. Red. Red.   
  
Kris pulls out their hand in a flash. Red. Light. Glowing.    
  
A soul. Not Kris’ soul. Not anymore. Red. Hot.    
  
Kris breathes deeply. Their breaths. Their chest. Kris’ chest. Kris’ pain in Kris’ chest.    
  
They concentrate. A step. A step. A step. A step. A Step. They focus the pain into their arm. Strength. They throw the soul. Not Kris’ soul.    
  
A metal thud. The door is shut. 

Caged. Now the parasite knows what it’s like to be caged, too. Now it will suffer, too.    
  
Kris turns around.    
  
Still watching. Eyes on their back. Red.    
  
Jitters. Pain. Jitters. Are they truly going insane?    
  
Jitters.    
  
They stretch out a hand. Their own hand. A knife. A threat. No more. Pain.    
  
Kris’ pain. If they must be in pain for them to be their own, so be it.    
  
The parasite is forbidden from coming closer. Not allowed. The threat is clear. As clear as the sharp shine of the blade. 

Kris tilts their head. They know where to look. Red. Now it’s Kris’ red. Red eyes. Unnatural. Light. Jitters.   
  
They grin. Are they truly going insane? Jitters. They can’t contain the jitters. Adrenaline. It’s their own body. Their own grin. Kris revels in it. 

**~**

Morning. Toriel’s voice. 

...   
  
Pain. Kris’ chest. Dark - under the bed covers.    
  
They can’t. They can’t. They can’t. They shake.    
  
A soft hand is on their head. It sends out warmth. The fur lightly tickles their skin.

Kris shakes. They want to sob. But they don’t want to alarm Toriel.    
  
They shake their head. Toriel sighs. She’s concerned. But she trusts Kris to a fault. Her soft footsteps thud as she exits the bedroom. 

A slimmer of light finds a tiny opening at the top of the bedsheet. It stabs Kris in the face. They bury themselves deeper in. It’s so warm. So warm. Hard to breathe.    
  
Hard to breathe. Trapped. Safety?    
  
They hear the noise of a car starting up from outside. Toriel must be leaving. Kris silently wishes she has a good day. If she doesn’t, it doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing matters anyway. 

Kris sobs. Can’t breathe. So warm. The air conditioner must be broken. It has to be fixed.    
  
Asriel could never sleep without it. So hot. Kris understands him now.

**~**

Evening.    
  
Knees to their chest. Kris lets their head hang. The covers are off. They breathe.    
  
The cage. The cage. It’s covered with an old white cloth. A thick curtain. Nothing is seen behind it.    
  
Kris stares at the center of the cage. It’s there. It’s there. They know it. Their chest hurts.    
  
Is it watching them? Is it viewing, perceiving, staring, watching? Is it entertained? Does it find entertainment in watching Kris fumble with themselves?    
  
A doorbell rings. Kris raises their head. Can’t be Toriel. School’s not over yet.    
  
Asgore? Maybe he’s here to drop off another flower bouquet.    
  
Kris stands up. Their feet dangle over the edge of the bed momentarily.    
  
They shuffle towards the front door. They open. They look from behind their bangs.    
  
A hand on their shoulder. Shorter than Asgore. The hand isn’t big enough. Purple.    
  
Kris looks up.    
  
Susie?   
  
“Hey punk,” Susie grins. “Where the heck were you today?”    
  
Silence.    
  
“Don’t sweat it, I’d the same - who even WANTS to be in ALPHYS’ class,” Susie says, and laughs. Her laughter is as loud as always.    
  
Kris would smile.    
  
“Sooo are you going to let me inside?” Susie asks. Kris steps back and she enters. She looks around, unsure.    
  
Kris gestures towards one of the living room chairs. They climb onto Toriel’s one.    
  
“You know,” Susie begins as she sits on the other. Kris tenses. “if you don’t come to the entrance, you’d never go THROUGH it,” Silence.    
  
“...Which means we can’t go visit Lancer and the others,”   
  
Silence. Somehow, Kris hunches over more.    
  
Susie frowns. “Do you even WANT to see them?” she presses. Silence. 

Kris feels a Check. Susie’s frown deepens. They know she got nothing out of it.   
  
“Hey, are you, uh... good?” she asks. Kris hears an off-tune note of concern in her voice.    
  
Silence. Kris nods slightly. Susie is clearly not convinced. She’s awkward, clearly doesn’t know what to do. 

“Uh... Tomorrow then, I guess,” she says and stands up from the chair. That conversation was way too short to sit for.    
  
Blur. Unimportant. Susie leaves at some point. There are now two bowls worth of food gone. At least she seemed satisfied. 

**~**

Kris crawls back to their room.    
  
They sit in front of the cage. They remove the thick fabric covering it.    
  
A soft red glow comes from the soul inside. Kris stares at it. The red reflects off the metal stripes.    
  
Hatred.    
  
Kris feels hatred. Dread. They feel a fire inside themselves. It’s a liquid fire. It falls into their stomach, sloshing back and forth, burning their insides, choking them up. They feel like they’d vomit any second now. Their skin crawls.    
  
Nothing is real. It is all a game. Kris is nothing more than the puppet to a sadistic, cruel manipulator.    
  
Often, Kris would stare, trying to see any mistake in the weaving of the world. And often they did. Things happening so conveniently, people acting so mechanically. But it was rare.    
  
It is such a carefully crafted existence.    
  
Kris wants to rip it apart.    
  
They stare at their hands. They can see the wrinkles in their skin. They can see their veins. They can see individual hairs.    
  
Kris clenches their hands into fists, digging in their nails, each different from the other. They press. A droplet of blood flows down. They can almost hear as it taps the carpeted ground. It adds to the already-present stain.    
  
Blood is hard to clean. 

Toriel doesn’t know it is blood - it’s so easy to tell her it’s just paint. Monsters know what blood is, in concept. But it is only Kris who has this red curse running through them. 

Kris shuts their eyes. They breathe. They are shaking. The soul is as calm as ever.    
  
Kris presses a trembling hand to the ground and pushes themselves up. Dragging their feet, they walk over to their bed once again.    
  
Once they felt their knees press to the side, they simply let themselves flop down. They bury themselves into the blankets, no longer caring for the heat. 

It doesn’t matter, anyways. If the plot has it that Kris dies from a heatstroke, they can’t even so much as object. 

**~**

  
  
“Hey Kris!” Asriel beamed, sitting on the bench beside them. Kris smiled and leaned into him.    
  
“You know, I still can’t comprehend how you did this,” Asriel wondered, absently looking towards the golden flowers next to the lake. The sun reflected off their petals.    
  
Kris turned to look at him. “I mean yeah, sure, determination, but... I could never achieve this when I was, uh, you know,” Asriel paused. “a flower.”    
  
Kris nodded, encouraging him to continue. “Maybe your determination is just... better, or stronger,” Asriel said, closing his eyes. Kris frowned.    
  
They looked at their foot- a vine had wrapped around it. The thorns were pressing into their leg. Kris gasped, and pushed themselves off the flower-ridden dirt.    
  
“And once I have it, I will RULE this WORLD!” Flowey said, laughing maniacally. More vines stretched out, wrapping themselves around Kris, and they couldn’t move.    
  
Kris wakes up in the middle of the night, hyperventilating. They... are tangled up in their sheets. They free themselves easily.    
  
Flowey. How had they known that name? Who was that? Why had they attacked?   
  
...Deep down, Kris knows. That dream... as if it hadn’t been meant for them. It’s already fading, but some details stick out. 

Kris had somehow known Asriel and this ‘Flowey’ creature were connected. And… they knew the second half had been... underground. And they were dressed in cold colors, like the lake, instead of their usual sweater.    
  
...   
  
Kris sighs and sits up.

...

WHAT?! 

They had- forgotten. Forgotten! To put the sheet back on. Oh no. Oh no no no no. That was- this is the WORST possible thing.    
  
The wagon is empty. It’s empty. No cage, no red. The only red is the panic Kris feels and the dull shade of the wagon itself. They are shaking once again, they can’t breath. They raise their knees up, hugging them, eyes wide but hidden.    
  
Toriel had definitely seen it. She had taken it. (How DARE she just TAKE it?!)    
  
Kris stands up. The carpet feels scratchy, and they feel too hot. They shove their feet into shoes and rush over towards Toriel’s bedroom-   
  
Voices, in the living room. Kris’ eyes snap in the direction, and instantly they are rushing there instead, taking two and three stairs at a time.   
  
They almost trip.    
  
The voices hush as Kris enters the room at once. Everyone stares, and Kris stares right back through their bangs. They are shaking, their head is ducked, they are clutching their hands into fists.

The cage is in the middle, all gathered clearly aware of it.    
  
“My child!” Toriel exclaims, and Kris sees dread and panic and concern and love in her eyes. She rushes over to them, going to hug them or take their hand, but they pull away.   
  
They raise their hands in front of themselves, a clear sign. Toriel takes a step back, understanding at least THIS.    
  
“My child, please,” Toriel says, kneeling down to talk to them, and they duck their head further. “I... I understand, you are hurting, but there are people who care for you, there are ways to deal with this,” she speaks softly.    
  
Anger and disbelief and hatred and depression flare up inside Kris. They grin, a ragged expression. She knows NOTHING. None of these people care for Kris, they care for that THING. And if Kris told them, they’d think the kid was INSANE.    
  
Asgore takes steps forward. In his arms is the cage, its glow coloring the fur at his arms red. He’s hesitant and scared and worried and, once again, loving.   
  
Kris’ eyes widen. They take steps backward, breathing rapidly, shaking their head.    
  
“Kris, please,” Asgore, too, pleads, and they despise his big eyes. “We can talk through this, I promise we’ll support you no matter what. But lacking a soul is dangerous for you,” he explains, as if they are a toddler.    
  
Kris growls. They lower their left hand, letting the handle slip down from their sleeve and clutching it. The blade shines as they raise it up, and multiple sets of eyes widen.    
  
“Hey, punk, be careful with that thing!” Undyne, the chief of police, says with a frown, standing up. She’s walking towards Kris now, too, and they step back. They feel cornered, they’re looking around frantically - they can run up the stairs or to the bathroom, and leave through a window.    
  
Unfortunately, Undyne has too much experience for that to slip by her.    
  
She throws herself after Kris just as Kris bolts. She presses their wrists to the cold ground, taking the knife away, and now Kris truly is cornered. Much like an animal, they begin struggling, wriggling, kicking, wanting her OFF.    
  
“Woah-! HEY, calm DOWN! You’ll hurt yourself dammit!” Undyne exclaims, but Kris ignores her. They snap at her, their bangs thrown aside in the tussle, and a red glare pierces through Undyne, making her falter.    
  
Kris bites Undyne, which is a mistake, because it only threw her right back into the moment. She gathers herself and pins them down better, restraining them. Kris wriggles like a worm under a shoe.    
  
“Sir, hand me the soul,” Undyne demands. Asgore is still unsure, brows pinched in worry. “NOW.” Undyne barks, and Asgore jumps, quickly opening the cage and setting it beside Undyne.    
  
Kris can’t breathe.    
  
Their chest hurts, their arms hurt, they can't move, their vision is fog, their blood is buzzing and rushing to their head.    
  
Pain. Control. Fear. Anger. Hatred.    
  
***** With a raspy, hysterical voice, you begin pleading to Undyne through rows of ‘No!’.    
  
Undyne doesn’t hesitate. She grabs the wretched soul and shoves it into Kris’ chest.    
  
Kris’ back arches, their eyes rolling back, and their chest seizes to move for the split of a second, completely silent as if somebody was choking them.    
  
**CONNECTED.**

Kris goes slack. Their expression falls completely neutral. Their breathing falls completely neutral. The only signs of the panic a second ago are the tears drying on their cheeks and the looks from everyone in the room.    
  
Undyne is inspecting them carefully. Trying to discern their state. Asgore and Toriel exchange glances. Lost and worried and partially regretful. Alphys is halfway to a panic attack.    
  
A nurse rushes towards Kris. He sets a hand on Undyne’s shoulder. Undyne stands up. But remains close.    
  
Kris sits up. The nurse kneels. He lifts their sweater. He checks over their chest. He checks over their breathing, their eyes.    
  
“Is anything hurting, sweets? Your chest, your body? Your head?” He asks. (Kris craves to scream that YES, EVERYTHING IS HURTING, LEAVE, LEAVE.)   
  
*Yes. *No.   
*Yes.  ***NO.**   
  
“I’m very glad to hear that,” the nurse says, standing up. Kris also stands up.    
  
The nurse turns towards Toriel and Asgore. “The child is showing no symptoms of distress or pain. Their statistics are all healthy. I advise they have a good sleep tonight, then take a day to rest. I also recommend you look into getting them to speak with a mental health professional,” he summarizes.   
  
The nurse gathers his belongings. “If anything happens tonight that you consider to be dangerous or even just suspicious, bring them to the hospital. Tomorrow after breakfast, bring them in for a check-up,” he says, and finally leaves the house.    
  
Everything is quiet. Nobody says anything. Not even the floor creaks - because nobody moves.    
  
Kris is seemingly not affected at all by any of this. They turn around and walk upstairs. They get into bed and go to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, I hope you enjoyed!  
> This spiraled more than I had planned, but I like how it tuned out.  
> Kris resonates a lot with me. So, I guess partially this was venty. But it was very much an exploration of Kris, too. 
> 
> I recommend listening to the song "Kitchen Fork" by Jack Conte; "Hollow" by Cloudeater; and "I Can't Handle Change" by ROAR. All of them are in my playlist for Kris, and I think are good for them.


End file.
